


The grief of the living

by chocoprompt



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, i almost make myself cry with this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-10-02 00:36:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20450903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocoprompt/pseuds/chocoprompt
Summary: Felix mourns his father's death.





	The grief of the living

**Author's Note:**

> A thing I just couldn't stop thinking about.

Felix fists his hands. He hadn’t been present when his father had died saving Dimitri (from a little girl! An actual honest-to-the-goddess little girl). His chest aches heavily – why, why, _why_ – and he isn’t even sure where he is headed. He can’t stand it, though, the glances of pity and the apologies. He brushes them off rudely, enough that he manages to keep everyone at two arms' length, enough that whoever approaches him knows better than to bring up the topic.

It’s been roughly three days since Rodrigue died, and he had been buried messily in the monastery. Ingrid had told Felix that, once the war was over, they would take care of holding a proper funeral, but Felix had brushed her off as well.

He had died for Dimitri. Just like Glenn did. Felix grits his teeth when he inevitably thinks that both of them died thinking they had been an honourable knight because they had died in order to allow Dimitri to live. Felix is glad Dimitri isn’t the bloodshed monster he had been a few days ago, but he can’t avoid thinking what-ifs. What if Dimitri had died in Duscur, or in those five years? What would be of Glenn and his father now? 

On pure instinct, he had been walking to the training grounds. Nobody is there – most of the knights are out patrolling and everyone else is probably having dinner. Felix hasn’t eaten much since Rodrigue died, and it’s only a matter of time before the professor comes to him, but Felix just can’t bring himself to do anything to change it. Felix reaches a wall and lets himself sit down, resting his back against it. He doesn’t blame the professor nor Dimitri, not really – he doesn’t even know exactly where the blame should fall on. Edelgard? The little girl? The Empire? All of those options seem not enough for Felix.

Felix sighs, folding his legs and hugging his knees, resting his forehead on his knees. He looks down to his lap, closing his eyes, as thoughts start coming to him one after the other, unstoppably. He gets the urge to fight – to pull his hair, to train until he’s out of strength, to scratch his hand. Urges he has never gotten at the same time are coming to him in a rush, and Felix grips his legs tighter, closes his eyes firmer, willing them to _go away_.

“Thought I would find you here.” Felix had been completely engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard someone approaching.

“Go away, Sylvain.” He growls weakly. Sylvain only sighs, sitting down next to Felix, who doesn’t move from his position.

“It’s okay to grieve.” Sylvain quietly says, and Felix clenches his jaw. He finally looks to Sylvain, who is looking ahead, though his gaze seems very far away.

“If you are here to offer your condolences, I don’t need to hear them.” He bits out, looking the other way. He had heard the phrase so many times – from Mercedes, Gilbert, Ingrid. Felix’s just so tired of it all.

“I’m not. Look, Felix,” Sylvain starts, sighing. “You’re not okay. And you could use a friend. I’m here.”

Felix shakes his head, even when the words make the lump in his throat worsen. He’s divided – a part of him wants to push Sylvain away, to tell him to go to hell, to yell at him why it has happened again, while another part of him wants to fall onto someone, to share this unbearable burden with someone, if only for a little while. Felix goes back to resting his head on his knees. “Why did it happen again?” He murmurs, barely audible, yet he knows Sylvain has heard him. He doesn’t reply, and Felix continues, as though he were wood and he had only needed a bit of fire to start burning. “What honour does my father find in risking his life for the reason his own son died? What would have happened if Dimitri had died instead of my brother?” His voice shakes, and Felix closes his eyes tightly. “Would both of them be alive now?” The thought pains him – he imagines a life where he had grown up with Glenn, challenging him and perhaps even beating him. It’s dumb, thinking like this.

Felix feels a hand on the base of his neck, rubbing circles slowly, and Felix doesn’t push it away. It brings him to today, to reality and present, and Felix doesn’t stop. “Why did it have to be him?” Felix whispers, and this time, through closed eyes, tears reach the floor. One drop, two drops, three. Almost a flow. His voice’s shaking, but he finds he doesn’t care at all at this point. “Why didn’t I appreciate him more while I had him?” Felix does let out a sob now, because he _regrets_, regrets so much. Now that he’s gone, Felix can’t tell him how sorry he is, how much he deeply wishes they had talked things out, how much it hurts.

“Felix…” Sylvain catches his attention, and the hand on his neck rounds his shoulder, pulling lightly towards Sylvain. “Come here.”

Felix feels defeated and follows complyingly. He falls to Sylvain’s chest, face hidden, and Sylvain holds him, moving his hand throughout his back. Felix’s feeling so much he doesn’t know what he is feeling at all, and he sinks into Sylvain, gripping his shirt. Sylvain stays quiet through Felix’s vaguely audible sobs. After a while, they quiet down, but none of them move. Sylvain keeps rubbing circles on Felix’s back, who finds himself slightly leaning into it. He’s exhausted from feeling this much. Felix sighs – he feels dazed and his head hurts.

“Better?” Sylvain asks but doesn’t stop his hands.

“I guess.” Felix murmurs, moving his hand to feel Sylvain’s heartbeat, constantly beating. “There’s no time to mourn. This is a war.”

“Don’t be inhuman. You lost your father.” Sylvain retorts.

“And so many did too.” Felix shakes his head slightly. “That’s just it, isn’t it? We can’t afford losing time focusing on the dead.” A memory comes to Felix’s mind, one he hadn’t thought about for years.

* * *

_“But why do wars exist?” Felix had once asked his father and brother. Glenn had sighed._

_“Again with this?”_

_“Wars happen when… people have a difference in opinions that cannot be solved diplomatically.” Rodrigue had replied. _

_“I don’t understand.” Felix had pouted. “Is it like when you and Glenn fight?”_

_Glenn had laughed. “No, nothing like that. We fight, but we love each other.”_

_“Precisely.”_

_Felix had frowned. “But dad! I don’t fight with you as much as Glenn does.”_

_“And that doesn’t mean I love you any less. I’ll always love you, with or without fights – never forget.” Rodrigue had replied, hand ruffling Felix’s hair._

* * *

Felix feels his chest tighten and he opens his eyes again and looks at Sylvain. He thinks of everything that awaits him ahead, of those around who care about him, and Felix knows he cannot stop here. The pain will not stop, he’s aware, but he refuses to lose himself in the grief. Live for the living. Perhaps that's all being a knight is about.

Felix will never forget, and he hopes that his father died knowing that, despite their bickering, Felix loved him just as much. “We’ll win this. For them.” Sylvain offers, and Felix nods.

“Of course we will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This was written in a rush and it's super messy but I just... needed to get it out of my system. 
> 
> Twitter: irwinshope
> 
> Tumblr: glazedbucky


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